Neither Monster Nor Man
by Jennifer Campbell
Summary: In his struggle to rediscover who he is, Spike goes to L.A. but gets a nasty surprise. Spoilers for season finales. Chapter 3 posted.
1. Default Chapter

**Title:** Neither Man Nor Monster  
**Author:** Jennifer Campbell  
**Fandoms:** Buffy: The Vampire Slayer, Angel  
**Spoilers:** Through season 6 finales  
**Pairing:** Spike/Buffy  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Disclaimers:** Not mine. Belong to Joss.  
**Author's notes:** This is pure speculation based on "Grave." There's no beta, so blame the typos on me. Love it or hate it, I'd love to hear your feedback. Thanks in advance.

# 

William was drowning, thrashing against the nothingness that swirled around him. Faster it spun, stealing all the air away, sucking him down down down into the black depths. He didn't want to go. He flailed about for an anchor, something to hold him back from the vortex he couldn't see but knew was there, but he found nothing to save him.

Intense pain hit him like a thousand gunshots.

He curled up against the torture and dropped like deadweight through the nothingness. A pinprick of light appeared below him, so insubstantial at first that he thought it was an illusion, but the light expanded. He watched, mesmerized, as he rushed toward that perfect circle of blinding white. Then he was in it, and it seared him, charred him inside and out. A scream ripped from him.

He hit bottom.

The first thing he noticed was the presence of solid rock against his back, cool and dry, a welcome change from the nothingness. And blood. Oh yes he smelled the blood. Its stench saturated everything, from the rocks to his own skin, and he felt sick from it. Pain throbbed through his body.

"It is done!" intoned a deep voice. "We have drawn his soul from the ether."

He frantically looked around for the origin of that voice, and he jumped as two brilliant green eyes emerged from the darkness. A bit of knowledge floated to the surface of his mind, and he knew those eyes belonged to a demon. But what was it doing here? And what was he doing here, lying on cold rock in what appeared to be a cave, weak as a newborn? Why couldn't he remember?

"We have restored that which was lost," the voice continued. "We have fulfilled our obligation to the victor of the trials."

"What? What trials?" he asked, hoarse and gravelly. He would have asked more, but the sound of own voice startled him into silence. His mouth had formed the words in such a strange accent, not at all like himself. He started again when he couldn't remember _why_ that was true.

_Make me what I was, so Buffy can get what she deserves._ The words flitted through his mind. The speaker sounded like himself, only with more determination. More anger. _Bitch is going to see a change._

The green eyes flashed. "You do not remember. The memories will return momentarily."

"Memories? I don't understand what you're --"

Words froze on his tongue as images suddenly flashed through his mind. A girl. There had been a girl. Blonde, petite, beautiful as an angel. He saw her swaying freely on a dance floor; thrusting a stake into the heart of a monster; lying cold and silent under the shadow of a black tower. He caught the fresh scent of her hair, the softness of skin at the small of her back.

Those images mingled with another woman, this one dark, with insanity raging in her eyes. A black princess, blood staining her lips. She walked toward him, through the ruins of a temple. _Naughty, wicked Spike. That's a Slayer you've done in._

_I'm using you. I can't love you. ... I'm sorry, William._

He trembled under the weight of remembrance. He wanted it to stop, but the visions kept coming.

A courtly woman with perfect brown curls looked down at him with a haughty expression. _You're beneath me._ Another flash, and she leaned over a ghostly white corpse, tears streaming down her cheeks, then looked up at him in wide-eyed fear. The coppery taste of her blood filled his mouth.

Realization came in an instant, and he began to tremble.

"I killed her," he choked out, and the demon chuckled darkly. "I killed everyone she loved, and I drank her ... her blood. I --oh God! What am I? What have I done?"

Other faces appeared, dead eyes seeming to stare at him in eternal accusation. Children, mothers, lovers. How many? How many had he killed? He held his shaking hands before him, almost able to see their blood there. His palms were stained with it. It would never wash off. Never never never... Oh, make it stop! Make the memories stop!

The petite blonde again, she screamed at him, crying out for him to stop as he ripped at her shirt, desperate to reach beneath that feeble armor, to make her feel for him again. She struggled and pleaded, but he wouldn't listen. He _refused_ to listen. He would _make_ her love him. She threw him off, her expression a melding of rage and hurt.

_Ask me again why I could never love you._

"Buffy," he whispered, and tears started to fall. He buried his face in his hands. "I'm sorry ... so sorry ... what kind of monster ..."

The green-eyed demon stepped closer. "Your prize does not please you, William?"

"Don't call me that!"

"It is your given name."

"William is a poet. A good man. And I'm a -- a ..."

Murderer. Monster. Vampire.

The demon said, "Spike, then? Does that suit you better?"

"No!" he blurted out. "Spike is ... is not me. Not anymore."

"But you remember his sins as your own."

"So much blood ..." he shuddered and sobbed. "I hurt her so much."

"The woman. The Slayer." It chuckled. "She is the reason you came here, because you wanted to give her what she deserves. Now you're a pathetic, sniveling waste. Do you see what she has driven you to?"

He looked into those green eyes, laughing at him. The demon actually _enjoyed_ his pain, fed off it like a leech. The man who had been Spike felt a rush of hot anger, and he rose unsteadily to his feet. He remembered why he had come here in the first place, to get rid of the chip.

"She didn't cause this. _You_ did. You tricked me." He intended for the words to come out menacingly, but he sounded whiny more than anything else. More William than Spike, and that was not what he needed just then. He tried harder to rouse the demon inside himself.

"A has-been like you doesn't deserve true restoration," the demon growled. "You are nothing. No one. A shadow."

The anger ran hotter, bringing with it a surge of strength. That was more like it. He found it easier to feed off the fury than the guilt -- satisfy the demon rather than the man. He wondered how many other unsuspecting petitioners had been deceived in this place, how many had been snared in the trap. He would be doing the world a favor, to rid it of this piece of shit. No remorse in that, to exterminate an evil thing.

"And you," he said, deadly quiet, "are dead."

The demon laughed cruelly. "You cannot kill me, weakling. I am immortal."

He shrugged. "That is unfortunate. For you. Because when I'm done, you'll wish you could die."

The stillness broke, and he launched himself at the demon. They fell and rolled, with the demon ending on top. It punched hard, spattering nose blood over both of them. Pain stunned him for a moment, but he managed to block the next punch and wriggle free of his captor. They rose to their feet. Through his vampire lust for violence, he felt his human side analyze the situation: The demon had the superior strength here, but it was not as quick. He had to use that to his advantage.

"Is that the best you can do?" sneered the demon, and it drew something from the folds of its clothes, but darkness hid the weapon.

"I haven't even started."

"Good," it said, and thrust forward.

He barely dodged the attack, aimed at his chest, and focused on what the demon held. Long, skinny and without the gleam of metal. A stake, perhaps? The demon jumped forward again. Without thinking, he slipped to one side and grabbed at the weapon, surprised when it wrenched free. He stumbled back with the stake in hand. The demon growled, its green eyes narrowing.

"You seem to have lost something," he quipped, tossing the stake between his hands. "Would you like it back?"

It rushed at him. He ducked the slow punches and came up under the demon's arms. He aimed two quick stabs at those eerie green eyes and scrambled away before the demon's powerful arms could close around him. It howled and clutched at its face, fell to the ground, as blood ran down in rivulets. His nostrils flared at the sweet scent.

Then the humanity kicked in, in full force, and the distinct feeling of nausea overcame him as he watched the demon writhe. Bugger all, the violence hadn't solved a single thing. It hadn't purged the guilt. He sank to his knees under the weight of it and closed his lids. A thousand accusing eyes stared back, Buffy's the most hateful of all.

_Ask me again why I could never love you._

He lifted the stake and pressed the point against his own chest. All he had to do was push it home, and spare the world from another murderer. It would be so simple. To end it.

He shuddered and let the stake clatter to the ground. With a last disgusted look at the demon, he shuffled toward the cave's entrance, bent as though laboring under a great load. Moonlight illuminated the landscape in a ghostly glow, falling on the sleeping village beyond. He had entered the cave as a vampire, a killer. He had emerged as something else. Guilt-ridden, haunted and too much of a coward to kill himself.

Not Spike. Not William. Neither monster nor man.

So what would he do now? Returning to Sunnydale was out of the question. He couldn't bear to face Buffy, or Dawn. Sweet Dawny. Surely she knew by now, what he had tried to do to her big sister. She would never forgive him. He didn't deserve her forgiveness.

What he needed was someone who understood.

Twenty-four hours later, he was on a plane to Los Angeles.

#


	2. chapter 2

**Title:** Neither Man Nor Monster, chapter 2  
**Author:** Jennifer Campbell  
**Fandoms:** Buffy: The Vampire Slayer, Angel  
**Spoilers:** Through season 6 finales  
**Pairing:** Spike/Buffy  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Disclaimers:** Not mine. Belong to Joss.  
**Author's notes:** This is pure speculation based on "Grave." There's no beta, so blame the typos on me. Love it or hate it, I'd love to hear your feedback. Thanks in advance.

# 

_Previously on Buffy ..._  
"It is done! We have drawn his soul from the ether."  
(Spike remembers his past) ...  
"I --oh God! What am I? What have I done?"  
"Your prize does not please you, William?" the demon asks.  
"Don't call me that!"  
"Spike, then? Does that suit you better?"  
"No! Spike is ... is not me. Not anymore."  
(In his despair, Spike goes to L.A., to find the only person who can help him) 

# 

He pushed open the double doors, which had the look of costly style but had long ago lost their majesty, and stepped into the hotel lobby with the satisfaction of completing a journey. Long that journey had been, as he had landed in Los Angeles more than two weeks ago -- two torturous, despondent weeks. He had slept little and had eaten even less, and his clothes hung off his thin frame. He imagined if he could look in a mirror, he would hardly recognize himself, but that was the way he wanted it. The desire to starve the demon inside himself, a foolish aspiration, he knew, had consumed his every moment. People got hurt when he set the demon loose. He couldn't stomach the thought of hurting an innocent ever again. 

Word on the street had led him here, but somehow he couldn't visualize Angel living in such a vast, open place. The elder vampire had always tended toward darker, smaller locales. The lobby was well-tended and neat, everything he would expect at a hotel, except for the grotesque red pentagram splayed across the floor. The other thing out of place was the total lack of people. He cautiously stepped inside, walked around the pentagram, and licked his dry lips. 

"Hello?" he said, then louder, "Hello? Anyone here?" 

He heard some shuffling, and a few moments later, a dark-skinned young man poked his head around a door behind the counter. He wasn't wearing a shirt, and a sheen of sweat covered his chest. 

"Oh, sorry, man," the man said as he came out. "I didn't know anyone was here." 

"Quite all right. I --" 

He stopped short as a pretty woman with mused brown hair also emerged from behind the door. Her lipstick was smeared a little, and she handed the man his shirt with a shy smile. It was obvious what they had been doing. Memories came unbidden of having Buffy in much more compromising positions, and his cheeks heated in embarrassment. 

The woman's eyes turn on him then and widened in concern. She rushed toward him. "Oh, come in, please. We're so sorry. We were -- well, we didn't hear you come in. Please, sit down, Mr...." 

"Will," he said, giving her the name he had adopted since his ordeal in the cave. He couldn't bring himself to continue using his former name of Spike, as it carried the weight of too much innocent blood. William, too, seemed wrong, but for opposite reasons. 

"Mr. Will," she repeated and led him to a circular couch. 

He chuckled. "No, just Will. It's my first name." 

"Oh," she said, and laughed at herself. "Sorry." 

"It's all right." 

"I'm Fred. This is Charles Gunn. Is there anything we can get for you," she asked. "Like something to eat or drink? Or maybe a change of clothes? No offense, but you look like you could use it." 

"No, I -- what I really need is to find Angel. Do you know him? Is he here?" 

The woman's eyes widened again in surprise, her face as open as a book. Will could tell she wasn't used to hiding her emotions, and he found it rather refreshing. It was the man, Gunn, who answered him, though. 

"You know Angel?" he asked a little warily. 

"Yeah, we're old friends." 

"How old, exactly?" 

At that question, Will studied Gunn more closely. The young man obviously suspected him of being something other than human, and, judging from his stony expression, he also harbored no love for demons. Will didn't have a choice but to trust the pair of them, though, if he wanted to find his sire. 

"About a hundred and twenty years, if you must know." 

Gunn smirked. "Thought so." 

"But I'm not here to fight. I only want to talk." 

"Yeah, right. Just like every vamp who comes looking for Angel wants to _talk_." He slowly, deliberately reached for his back pocket and pulled out a wickedly sharp stake. He knelt one knee on the couch beside Will and pressed the stake's point against his chest, but through it all, Will hardly twitched a muscle, even as his inner demon pushed to break free. "Give me a reason not to do it. Tell me why we should trust you." 

"Charles, don't! Let him explain first," Fred cried out, and pulled at her boyfriend's shoulder. 

He shrugged her off, keeping his gaze fixed on Will. "I am giving him the chance to explain." 

"Without the stake, OK?" she pleaded. "Haven't we seen enough violence in here?" 

"It's all right," Will interrupted, and Fred backed off. It took all his strength to remain still, when his demon side wanted to toss the bloody wanker across the room and his human side wanted to help the stake home. "I wouldn't trust me, either. Let me assure you that I haven't killed a human for months, and I don't intend to start now." Still Gunn didn't move, so Will continued in a menacing low voice. "I don't want to hurt you, but you're pressing your luck. Now get the bloody hell off me before I throw you off." 

For one terrifying moment, Will feared that Gunn would call his bluff. After all, he had yet to test whether the chip was still active; he didn't know himself whether he could go through with his threat. Then Gunn looked away, stood up and shoved the stake back in his pocket. Will smoothly rose to his feet and stood eye to eye with him, his inner demon singing to life. He suddenly could sense the rich blood pumping just below Gunn's skin, only inches away, and he trembled with hunger and disgust at the same time. 

"Do that again, and we will have a problem. Understand?" His voice, calm but intense, made Gunn visibly shudder as he nodded. Good. Now they understood each other, and Gunn wouldn't underestimate him again. "Now where is Angel?" 

"He's not here," Fred said, coming between the two men. She glanced at Gunn. "We haven't seen him in weeks." 

"Bloody hell," he muttered, rolling his eyes. "What about Cordelia, then? She would know where to find him." 

Fred winced a little. "She's gone, too. Our best guess is that they ran off together. Maybe wanted to spend some time alone." 

Will raised his eyebrows. "So it's like that, is it?" 

Gunn jabbed Fred lightly in the ribs. "He doesn't need to know all that." 

"He obviously knows them both, so why not?" 

"Because _we_ don't know _him._" 

"But --" 

"Look," Will interrupted. "Do either you know _anyone_ who would know how to find Angel? It is rather important that I find him sometime this century." 

Fred shrugged helplessly. "Sorry." 

Will fell back onto the couch and held his head in his hands. This wasn't going at all like it was supposed to. Only Angel could help him. Only his sire would understand what he was going through, caught between his human self and the demon he had become. Not able to control which aspect would take over at any given moment. He couldn't go on living like this. He needed Angel's wealth of experience, but this -- his last hope of finding Angel -- had fallen apart spectacularly. Will suddenly wished Gunn had thrust the stake in, if only to end his torment. 

He could think of only one other person who might be able to help him: Buffy. She had nursed Angel back to health after his temporary transformation into Angelus, and she had seen what he had gone through. Will had heard those stories, oh yes. In the old days just after Buffy's resurrection, when she had sought company in his crypt almost every night, she had talked and talked about everything, and he had been content to listen. 

She might help him now, if he asked her. But he couldn't bear to face her after hurting her so much, and he cringed at the thought of accepting her pity. 

"So that's it, then," he muttered. "Angel's gone. Can't go back to Sunnydale. It's over. I have nowhere else to go." 

A small hand fell on his shoulder. "Then stay here for a while," Fred said softly. 

Gunn said, "Fred, I don't think --" 

"No, Charles," she said firmly. "I know what I'm doing. Trust me." Then to Will, she said, "We have plenty of space here, and rooms without windows. Angel and Cordelia might come back at any time. You can wait for them here, if you want." 

Will looked her helplessly. "Why do you want to help me? I'm a vampire. A killer. You have no reason to trust I won't try to kill you, too." 

She quirked a smile. "We can always stake you later if we need to. But for now, it's obvious you need help. And that's what we do. We help people." 

_But I'm not a person._ He bit back the words. If this young lady was willing to show some compassion for a monster, then he would be a fool to turn her down. He nodded his acceptance. 

Fred beamed. "Great! I'll go get a room ready for you, then. Oh, and we've been keeping a fresh supply of blood in the fridge just in case Angel came back. Pigs blood, not human. Hope you don't mind ..." 

She continued her cheerful chatter as she led him into the hotel, and a glowering Gunn stalked along behind them with his hand at his back pocket. Will respected him for his vigilance as much as he admired Fred for her open-hearted trust. It would make for an edgy relationship among them, though. 

_Angel_ he thought, _don't stay away too long._

# 


	3. chapter 3

**Title:** Neither Monster Nor Man  
**Author:** Jennifer Campbell  
**Fandoms:** Buffy: The Vampire Slayer/Angel  
**Spoilers:** Through season finales  
**Pairing:** Spike/Buffy  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Disclaimers:** Not mine. Belong to Joss.  
**Notes:** Finally, chapter 3 is done. Sorry for the weeks-long delay, but my writing time is so rare and sporadic nowadays. I'm working on chapter 4 now, so hopefully it will be posted soon. 

# 

The nightmares had woken him again, and he couldn't shake himself of their terror. For three nights now, he had dreamed the same thing, of bring trapped in a small, cramped place, so very alone, and surrounded by an endless nothingness. No, not nothingness. _Something_ was out there in the blackness, a relentless force that pushed and pulled at his prison but was not strong enough to rip it apart and set him free. He felt panic, and loneliness and the heartbreak of betrayal, and the emotions came in waves so powerful that they always forced him awake. He would bolt upright in bed with a yell, pulling the sheets to his chest as though they were all that held him in reality. 

After that, he couldn't sleep again, so he found himself in a plush chair in the corner of the hotel room, waiting for the terror to subside. The nightmares were too real to originate from his own disturbed mind, he reasoned. Besides, the dreams of his own making always featured people, the ones he had killed so horribly. Often he dreamed of Buffy, and that unforgivable moment against the bathroom floor. Every time she gave him her hurt, accusing stares, his heart broke all over again. 

_Ask me again why I could never love you._

These other dreams were different, but somehow familiar. They presented a puzzle for him to solve, something to keep his mind off his own miserable existence. 

One particular afternoon, after mulling the nightmare for a while, he gave up and went to his small desk for a pencil and pad of paper, then settled back into his chair. He flipped past the top pages of doodles and musings to a blank page, and he started to write. Moments later came a polite tapping at his door. 

"What is it?" he said, rather irritated. He hated interruptions. 

The door crept open a crack, and Fred peeked around the corner, her eyes wide and inquiring. "Can I come in?" 

"Of course." 

Fred grinned in her special way that always made Will smile in return. Even the ever-serious Gunn couldn't resist that smile and turned to putty in this slim girl's hands. She opened the door a bit more and stepped inside, cupping a steaming mug. The scent of pig blood wafted his way, and a hot, wet taste filled his mouth. 

"I thought you might be hungry," she said quietly. "Angel was always hungry when he first woke up." 

"Thanks," he said, taking the mug. 

"You still don't eat enough, you know," she said critically as she perched on the edge of his bed. "You're much too skinny and pale. You probably wouldn't eat at all if I didn't bring you food a couple times a day, would you?" 

"I try not to think much about food anymore," Will confessed. Thinking about blood only resurrected painful memories. "Any word from Angel today?" 

"Nope. He's still missing in action. So is Cordelia. Why do you want to see him so much? I mean, no offense, but he's never mentioned a vampire named Will before." 

He smiled sadly. "I guess he wouldn't have." 

"Of course, I haven't known Angel that long. Only about a year. He and the others saved me from this other dimension where I was a slave, but everyone called me a cow. It was awful there. I--" She abruptly stopped and sighed. "There I go again, chattering on about nothing. Sorry." 

"No need to apologize." 

"Now you know how I met Angel," she said and cocked a shy smile. "How did you meet him?" 

Will couldn't help but chuckle. This was a game they played occasionally. She fished for information, some clue as to who this stranger in their hotel really was, but Will refused to give in. They fenced with words. It was an amusing game -- she was clever and polite, and he was stoical. Sometimes he gave her a crumb, to keep her thirsting for more. 

Today she was upfront about it, wanting a hint of how he knew Angel, but one mention of Spike -- whom Angel had surely talked about at some point -- and he would be shoved out the front door to a sunny demise. That option no longer appealed to him. Despite his anger and guilt, he was no longer suicidal. Besides, he found himself wanting this young woman's friendship and approval, and he couldn't endure the thought of her pain if she ever knew the truth about his past. 

So instead of giving her what she wanted, he merely sipped from the mug, and Fred shifted a little uncomfortably on the bed, hands clasped tightly in her lap. Her eyes landed on his notepad, and she cleared her throat a little. 

"What, um ... what are you writing?" 

Will shrugged. "Nothing important." 

In an even smaller voice, she asked, "Can I see?" 

She gave him another bright, hopeful smile, and Will knew he couldn't refuse her this request. It would do little harm and would make her happy. He nodded, and she scooted closer across the bed and picked up the pad. It still lay open to the page he had been working on when she knocked, and she read aloud. 

"Come to me now again, release me from  
this pain, everything my spirit longs  
to have fulfilled, fulfill, and you  
be my ally." 

Her eyes widened. "Poetry? A vampire who writes poetry?" 

"It's not mine, actually," Will said quickly, his cheeks heating. "I don't write poetry. Anymore. This was written by Sappho. It fit what I wanted to say." 

"Say to who?" 

He blushed again. "A girl -- woman -- I knew." 

"A woman you loved?" 

"Yeah." 

"What happened to her?" 

He tensed, and his voice came out hoarse. "I hurt her. Very badly. I betrayed the trust she had put in me, and I couldn't stay there anymore." 

"In Sunnydale, you mean." 

He looked up at her, wild-eyed. "How ..." 

"It's what you said when you first got here. You said you couldn't go back to Sunnydale, so I kinda assumed that was your home. I wasn't wrong, was I?" 

He stared at her, tongue-tied, unsure of how to answer that. Fred had proven she had a quick mind, and if he said too much, she might put the pieces together. She might figure out that he knew the Slayer, knew her friends, and if she tried to contact them, they would tell Fred who he really was, all the evil he had done. He wouldn't be able to face her disgust, at knowing the truth, not after she had treated him so kindly. 

An urgent knock on the door saved him from answering, and Gunn strode into the room without so much as an invitation. A lethal ax was strapped across his back, and his expression was all business. 

"Just got a tip," he said. "Demon down at Lewis Park, ate some woman's poodle. She went to the police but of course they're not gonna believe her. Detective Lockley got wind of it and sent it our way." 

Fred asked, "Do you need backup?" 

"Yeah. And no offense, baby, but I'm gonna need someone stronger than you," Gunn said, and smiled to soften the blow. "I really wish Wes was here, but since he's not ... Will, you're coming with me." 

Will's eyes bugged out. "I -- I'm _what_?" 

"You're coming with me. To kill the demon. You've been sitting in this room for weeks, eating the blood we paid for, and now you're going to earn your keep. So suit up." 

Oh, this was not good. Violence brought out his demon, and he wasn't ready to face that just yet. Sure, he had made short work of the green-eyed bastard who had restored his soul, but what if he couldn't control himself? What if the blood-lust took over and he couldn't find his way back? What if Gunn or Fred or some other innocent got hurt because of him? He had to find a way out of this. 

"It's still daylight," he protested. 

"Sunset's in 15 minutes," Gunn said. 

"I don't have any weapons." 

"There's a whole cabinet of 'em downstairs." 

Will opened his mouth again, but Gunn cut him off. 

"You will be coming with me, vampire. You say you're a friend of Angel. This is what Angel does and what all of us do. We fight the good fight. And if you are who you claim to be, then you will stop yapping and get downstairs." He pivoted and marched from the room, stopping at the door for a last parting shot. "What kind of vampire are you, to run from a fight?" 

"A broken one," Will muttered, and reluctantly followed Gunn. 

Fred came behind, quiet but watchful. As Will fished through the weapons cabinet and waited for sunset, he could feel her eyes boring into his back. Not for the first time, he wondered whether she had guessed more about him than she let on. 

# 


End file.
